Almost Beyond Gone
by Kiyoshi Kitana
Summary: PG-13, Dean/Sam, bloodletting and drinking. Sam is barely holding up without Ruby around, and Dean hates every bit of what that implies. Slight Wincest, mostly spoilery for Season 4.


**Title: **Almost Beyond Gone  
**Author: **Kitana  
**Warnings: **PG-13, Dean/Sam, bloodletting and drinking. _Sam is barely holding up without Ruby around, and Dean hates every bit of what that implies. _Written for a bloodplay prompt over at **spnkink_meme**.

***

Sam is barely holding up without Ruby around, and Dean hates every bit of what that implies. He's been watching, hoping things get better, but Sam only seems to keep sliding deeper into the messy hole he's dug for himself.

He watches Sam as he spends his nights tossing, turning, and waking up in cold sweats. He watches as Sam spends his days equally shaking and uncomfortable, his eyes unfocused and glazed over like he's been thrown into a trance. Dean doesn't know how deep Sam's addiction to demon blood goes, but quitting cold turkey isn't cutting it. Dean's seen addiction before, but heroin and cocaine? They can't even hold a candle to what Sam's withdrawing from.

So Dean figures a more drastic detox is in order. Sam, however, still manages to flat out refuse despite his increasing dizziness and disorientation.

They're in a motel right on the border of Nebraska and South Dakota, and Sam is slumped on the floor against the edge of his bed, head cradled in his hands. "I can't use you like that, Dean. I won't," he says, not even able to lift his head up enough to look Dean in the eye.

Dean would think it pathetic if it were anyone other than Sam, his Sam.

"You will," Dean says, going for his best no-nonsense tone. It's hard for him to stand here and watch Sam crumble to pieces. "You will, and I'm not gonna let you tell me otherwise."

Sam makes a miserable noise, but offers up no more protest. Dean figures Sam probably can't think far past the throbbing in his head, his whole body calling for the tainted blood Ruby all but forced down his throat. Dean wishes he could kill the bitch a second time, but he forces those thoughts away in favor of the task at hand.

"Look at me," Dean says, kneeling in front of Sam. Sam doesn't lift his head as much as he pushes it up with his hands, and fuck, it's like staring into a mirror, the way Sam's eyes are glassy with need and unshed tears.

Dean scoots until he is, for all intents and purposes, straddling Sam's lap. Sam is pliant when Dean pushes his head back to loll against the edge of the bed, just exhaling and blinking rapidly.

"Dean, don't...," Sam trails as Dean fishes his trusty pocketknife out of his jacket. He then shrugs it off and tosses it across the room.

"Just hush," Dean murmurs, and then takes a deep breath. This is the hard part. He doesn't even know if this is going to work, but what kind of older brother would he be if he didn't try? It's with that in mind that he makes the first slit into the meat of his left forearm, a couple of inches below the crease of his elbow. It stings, but it's a nothing pain in comparison to what he's felt before.

Dean waits for a few seconds, until the blood has welled up all the way across the cut and is close to dripping off his arm, then shifts to cup the back of Sam's head and bring him forward enough to make his dry, chapped lips press against the wound. Dean's blood smears across Sam's lips, making them a bright, obscene sort of red. Sam's eyes snap open upon contact, but Dean just rubs the pad of his thumb against the patch of skin beneath Sam's ear, trying for the comforting route.

Sam licks his lips, tentatively at first, then gets bolder as Dean keeps bleeding against his lips. When the flow starts trickling slower, Sam's tongue darts out to press against the source itself, and Dean hisses, but doesn't stop Sam. It feels weird, Sam's lips – now moist with blood – sucking at his arm, reopening the wound. It almost feels tender, nurturing, the way Dean is practically spoon feeding Sam his blood, and he can't help but think that if it's anyone's blood that Sam should have_ever_ been drinking, it should have been Dean's, not some skank hell bitch's.

"Ease up there, Sammy," Dean says after a few moments, feeling a shiver down his spine when Sam's lips pop off his arm wetly."How you feeling?"

Sam's voice is raspy when he responds, "Dunno yet, honestly. Think I might... need more."

Sam is able to hold his head up a little better, and that takes the weight off of Dean to keep Sam's head up. Sam's gaze turns to Dean's then, looking up into Dean's face with an expression that Dean can't decipher. Appreciative, thankful maybe? Dean's not even sure. He's just glad to see the glassiness start to fade.

"Gonna give you some more, Sam, just hold on a sec," Dean says, and he reaches for the knife again, resting peacefully on the bed next to Sam's head. Sam is tracking the movement this time as Dean slides the knife against his skin again, opening up another slit below the first one.

This time, Sam is able to cup Dean's arm with one palm and lean into it of his own accord. Sam's tongue is soft and slick against his wound, and Dean is startled to find that it quiets the pain that is radiating from the cut. Dean isn't sure how long it goes on before Sam gives his arm one last lick and releases his grip, sucking his lower lip between his teeth.

"Any better now?" Dean asks, watching Sam worry his lower lip until it's pink and swollen.

Sam's cleared gaze keeps Dean rooted to the spot on Sam's lap. "Yeah, a lot better," he says, then casts his gaze away. "You didn't have to, though, Dean... I could've ridden it out."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Sam. If I have to bleed myself every other day until you're better, I'm gonna. No back talk."

Sam gives up a wry smile, and decides he can't argue when Dean's got his mind set on something. He shifts underneath Dean and Dean slides off his lap, knees creaking as he stands to his full height. Sam clambers up after him, still slightly unsteady on his feet.

"At least let me bandage the cuts, 's the least I can do," Sam says, and Dean nods in agreement.

"Just promise me one thing, Sammy," Dean says as he plops on the bed, putting his arm on display.

Sam looks over his shoulder as he digs through their mutual bags to find gauze. "What's that?"

"Next time you think you've gotta go all vampire to get things done, come see me first."

Sam gives Dean a look of uncertainty, but promises anyway.

Dean just has to hope he can trust Sam to keep it.


End file.
